


Backhander

by Naughty_Yorick



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Accidental Slapping, Fluff, M/M, Silly, Teen for Swears, Touch-Starved Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-03
Updated: 2020-12-03
Packaged: 2021-03-09 23:08:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 822
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27864341
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Naughty_Yorick/pseuds/Naughty_Yorick
Summary: Jaskier wasn’t listening, still wildly flailing his arms. “And another fucking thi—” SMACK.Midway through a Dramatic Stomp, a furious Jaskier accidentally slaps Geralt. Geralt is fine, of course. Jaskier is less fine.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 32
Kudos: 619





	Backhander

**Author's Note:**

> I posted this on tumblr ages ago, and just realised I didn't migrate it! Inspired by [my post here](https://a-kind-of-merry-war.tumblr.com/post/628806517437661184/a-kind-of-merry-war-a-kind-of-merry-war-ive)

“—the fucking _cheek_ of that prick! I can’t believe he thought he could get away with it!”

Jaskier spun around on his heel, gesticulating with his arms as he spoke, his words quick and furious. Geralt watched the performance with a raised eyebrow, thankful that he’d removed the bard from the tavern and gotten him into their shared room before he could start throwing things.

“Oh, _yes_ , it’s a very wise idea to hurl around such _baseless accusations_ when the subject of your insults is out in the fucking wilderness saving your shitty fucking village! The nerve of these arseholes, Geralt, I _swear_ …”

Jaskier’s voice was growing higher and louder, cracking at the edges. Geralt edged forwards.

“Jaskier,” he said, hands raised as if he was approaching a wild animal, “The man’s an idiot, but—”

Jaskier wasn’t listening, still wildly flailing his arms. “And another _fucking_ thi—”

_SMACK_. His hand connected with Geralt’s cheek in a world-ending, backhanded slap. The ringing sound of skin on skin would have been impressive, under any other circumstances.

Geralt blinked, dazed. Jaskier’s hands flew to his mouth in horror.

“Oh, Geralt!” He cried, “Oh no, oh no… I’m so sorry!”

The slap hadn’t even hurt. Of course it hadn’t: Geralt was a _witcher_ , for fucks sake. A single accidental slap from the hand of a half-cut bard barely even registered to him.

Jaskier, however, was beside himself. The sudden shock of it had pulled him out of his furious ranting. Geralt had assumed it was the sudden sting of pain that had broken him from his clamouring - Geralt was sturdy: it would have been like slapping a wall. But Geralt _knew_ human emotions, and Jaskier wasn’t vibrating with fear or reeking of pain. If anything, he seemed _sad,_ his eyes suddenly filling with tears as he rushed forwards, cupping Geralt’s face in his hands, tilting Geralt’s head so he could better see the place where he had slapped him.

“Oh,” he said, “Geralt, I’m so sorry. I hit you! All because I was so angry about that stupid man…” He made a sad little noise, his eyebrows twisted upwards.

Geralt knew that there wouldn’t even be a mark where Jaskier had struck him, but Jaskier was looking anyway, cupping his jaw and gently stroking his thumb against the place where his hand had connected with Geralt’s face.

“I hope you can forgive me, Geralt,” Jaskier muttered, eyes sparkling.

Geralt rolled his eyes. “I’m a witcher,” he said, gruffly, “I fight monsters for a living. It was like being swat at by a kitten…”

Jaskier wasn’t listening. “…you must think I’m a _beast_ …”

“…or a particularly fierce moth,” Geralt continued, aware that he was being ignored.

Jaskier continued to paw at him, uncaring for Geralt’s dismissals. His touch was soft and light - gently examining Geralt’s face for a bruise that Geralt knew he would never find. He wanted to push him away, to insist he was being foolish - but he couldn’t remember the last time he’d been touched with such deliberate care. Geralt could feel Jaskier’s heartbeat in his fingertips, vibrating through his jaw, making his skin tingle.

Finally, Jaskier unhanded him with a soft exhale. Geralt immediately missed the touch, his skin feeling oddly cool and empty without Jaskier’s intense attention. Jaskier peered at him, but didn’t step back.

“Did it hurt?” He asked, horribly sincere.

Geralt paused. This sudden closeness - Jaskier’s hands on his face, and the mere inches tingling between them - was somehow more shocking than the slap. And more shocking still was the sudden revelation that he hadn’t wanted it to end.

“Terribly,” he said, finally. “It hurt terribly.”

Jaskier’s eyes widened and he began to chew on his lower lip. His ears were turning red. Geralt took a small step forwards, suddenly unsure: but judging by the hitch in Jaskier’s breath and the stuttering beat of his heart, he hadn’t misjudged the movement. Slowly, he reached out, lightly gripping Jaskier’s arm, just below his elbow. Jaskier leant into the touch, as if by instinct.

“How can I ever make it up to you?” He breathed, copying Geralt’s movement, closing the gap between them until their chests were touching.

“You’ll have to nurse me back to health…” Geralt murmured, letting his hand slowly move up Jaskier’s arm. “Or…”

“Or?”

Geralt tucked a loose strand of hair behind Jaskier’s ear, letting his fingers linger on the side of his face.

“Or you could kiss it better.”

Jaskier’s face flushed suddenly, violently pink, and he froze beneath Geralt’s touch. For a moment, Geralt feared that he’d said the wrong thing, when Jaskier let out a long sigh, leaning towards him.

“Does that mean you can find it in your heart to forgive me?” He said, his lips brushing lightly against Geralt’s cheek, his breath warming Geralt’s skin.

“Hmm,” Geralt responded, tilting his head so Jaskier’s mouth was pressed against his jaw, “I think I can.”


End file.
